Do I Seem Straight to You, John?
by CelCastillo
Summary: Idea from a post on tumblr: sherlock comes home one day after someone suggests that he is Heterosexual and he drapes himself on the sofa and throws an arm over his eyes and sighs dramatically and cries, "do i seem Straight to you, john?"


Sherlock huffed, shoving his hands further into his coat pockets. He knew that people were stupid, but really? It was so tiresome, day in and day out.

Sherlock sulked up the stairs and up to his flat and hung his coat on a hanger before draping himself over the couch, sparing John a quick glance. He had cleaned today, or at least tried to. Now, enjoy a nice cup of tea and checking up on the newspaper. Dull.

Sherlock huffed again, not caring that he was pouting. His flatmate, Not Gay™ John Watson, and more or less love of his life (not that he had to know that), just out of reach. Maybe John would be able to answer his question. "Do I seem straight to you, John?"

Now, if Sherlock was honest, he would tell you that he wasn't expecting any sort of reaction, really, besides maybe anything except what he got. John almost choking on his tea, after the rest of the cup had gone down the front of his jumper and newspaper, was not one of them.

"Are you okay, John?" Sherlock asked, because that was the right thing to do after all.

"What the _hell_ , Sherlock?" John sputtered some more and his voice sounded rough after all that coughing. It was his fault that he literally inhaled his tea; Sherlock didn't know why he would blame him for it.

It was best to ask, he decided. "What?" He turned his face more fully to John, his brow furrowed.

"Why do you feel the need to ask me that?"

"Well, you know me better than any other person that is currently alive, and I figured you would know the answer. So, do I seem straight to you?"

Sherlock waited while John blinked, his own eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Why he was confused, Sherlock didn't have the faintest idea. It was all pretty _straight_ forward if you asked him.

John took and deep and pinched his brow before answering. "No, Sherlock you do not seem straight to me. Do I dare ask why you wanted my opinion on the subject?"

Sherlock made sure to look thoughtful before he answered. "Just making sure you were smarter than the average person."

John took another deep breath. "Thanks, I guess."

"No problem," Sherlock paused before asking the next part his question. "Why do people think I'm straight, John? Why must people be so boring?"

"I don't know, Sherlock. People see what they want to see, right? That's what you always say."

"What do you see, then?"

"I see a bloke with product in his hair and a too-tight shirt that wouldn't know genuine interest if it cracked him outside the head. Multiple times."

Sherlock tilted his head, considering what he had just been told. "What makes you say that? Of course I would see genuine interest. It wouldn't have to crack my skull for me to notice. I'm Sherlock Holmes, I would notice." Sherlock said the last bit more to himself, trying to reassure himself that he would, in fact, notice if someone displayed genuine interest in him. He had noticed Molly, hadn't he? Is John referring to a certain person? If he was, then it's more than likely that he had deduced said person's feeling incorrectly.

"Are you speaking about a specific person? One that we both know?"

"Yes, Sherlock." A crinkle of the newspaper and John was speaking to him as if he were a child.

"Is it Lestrade?" That wouldn't do, he was supposed to be in love with Mycroft. It made Sherlock shudder to give that idea much more thought.

"No, Sherlock." John crossed his legs to stop them from fidgeting.

"Anderson? Donovan? Dimmock?"

John snorted and Sherlock grinned, happy to provide his friend some amusement. "No, none of them, Sherlock. Are you being deliberately obtuse?"

The newspaper lowered now, tea stains and all. John hadn't even bothered to grab a new jumper. That had to show how used he was to the odd experiment here and there.

"I have no idea who could be interested in me, being someone that we both know. I think you must have judged them incorrectly, John. Tell me their name so I can disprove you of this silly notion."

This seemed to make John sad, and a Sad John was not a John that Sherlock liked. He did not like a Sad John™ because a Sad John™ did not smile and Sherlock liked John Smiles™. They made him feel better.

"I know for a fact that they are hopelessly in love with you, you great big tit." And now Sad John™ was giving him Sad John Smiles™ and those were the worst.

"Mollys' already moved on, you know."

John shook his head, standing up from his chair and moving toward the staircase that led to his bedroom. "It's not Molly, Sherlock."

Sherlock placed his hand under his chin, in their thinking pose, tuning out the noise of John changing and grabbing his jacket. He didn't pay attention to the sound of the door as it closed, too busy going through every person that he and John knew, wondering who could _possibly_ be in loved with him.

His eyes flew open, a startled gasp coming from between his lips, unaware how much time had passed since John left the flat. " _It's John_ ," He breathed out, already second-guessing his deductions because they couldn't possibly be correct.

John Watson couldn't be hopelessly in love with him because Sherlock couldn't possibly be that lucky.

So, he did the only thing he could do. He phoned Lestrade.

"Sherlock, this better be important-"

"Is John in love with me?" Sherlock cut him off, needing a quick yes or no.

"Why the actual fuck would you ask me that?"

"Aren't you supposed to know things like this?"

"Aren't _you_ supposed to know things like this?"

Sherlock sighed. "I _should_ but I _don't_ because I'm too close to the case, obviously. So. Is John in love with me? A simple yes or no will suffice."

"Yes, Sherlock, the man is in fact, Ass Over Tits™ in love with you. Now whatever you've done, fix it."

"Thank you, Lestrade."

Sherlock hung up the phone, sent a text to John, and went back to his Thinking Pose™. He had to come up with a plan on how to approach this with John. He had to let the other man know that he, too, was 'Ass Over Tits™' in love with him.

Sherlock checked the time. John would be home soon, hopefully, for dinner. Sherlock whipped out his phone and sent a text to John, asking him to pick up some take-out on his way back.

An undetermined amount of time later there was the welcoming smell of Thai drifting up from the stairs and John's footsteps that signalled his return home.

Sherlock stood up and opened the door and grabbed the bags of food from John before striding into the kitchen. It wasn't in too bad of a state, if Sherlock said so himself. Not like he had anything to do with it. It was probably John who had cleaned up.

"Are you actually going to eat tonight or are you going to use the food for some sort of experiment?"

"I'm going to eat it, obviously. If I was going to use it for an experiment then I would have specified my food choices."

"Fair enough."

Sherlock watched as John stretch, on his toes, reaching for the plates. He looked lovely stretched out like that, and he didn't know that, Sherlock realised. That was something that needed to be fixed right away. After food. Sherlock could tell John everything after food. 

It was now after food and John was getting ready to announce that he was going to get ready to go to bed. So, sitting across from John in front of the fireplace, when both men are in a pleasant mood, Sherlock decides that the Topic™ from this morning would make a great conversational piece.

"You were talking about yourself this morning, weren't you? You're the one who's hopelessly in love with me."

John's reaction is immediate. His shoulders go stiff and his jaw locks. Well, Sherlock was never one known for tact.

"Possibly." John heaved a large sigh, one that rivaled Sherlock's worst during a sulk, and almost folds in on himself. "If you want me to leave, that's fine, I understand. I won't push, couldn't hope, for more than just friends. That is, if you still want that. If you don't that's also fine, I understand. Give me ten minutes and I'll be gone."

John's voice cracks at the end and Sherlock internally winces. This is Really Sad, Hopeless John™. This is the John that is to be avoided at all costs because this John makes Sherlock Really Sad, Hopeless, and in this case, Guilty Sherlock™ and Sherlock does not like it. This John needs reassurance that Sherlock is more than willing to give.

"Wrong wrong wrong, John. How can you be so blind, so stupid?" John flinches at the last part. That was more than a Bit Not Good™, Sherlock knows.

He stands up from his chair, unfolding his legs that were beneath him and goes to kneel in front of John's chair. "I would never want you to leave, ever. I want to consume you, John Watson. I want to know what your skin taste like, how your skin should peel back, layer after layer. I want to breathe nothing but your scent and survive on nothing but your blood. I want to claim you, to cut you open and stitch you back together so I can know how you work from the inside out. I want to be able to discover eternal life just to make sure that we could never be parted, not even by death, by age. I know that most of that sounds more than just a bit not good, but John Watson, I am hopelessly in love with you."

Their faces were now almost touching, their breath tangled together, and it had to be an uncomfortable position for both of them, if either of them were to give any thought to something so mundane.

Sherlock waited with bated breath, sure that John would be disgusted with Sherlock's admission, state that he was Not Gay™, or even that he loved Sherlock, 'just not like that'.

Instead, all Sherlock got was a very affectionate look; soft around the eyes and mouth, eyes dilated, and quickened breath.

"My mad, madman." John's voice was barely above a whisper, gentle. "I suppose it's a bit not good to love every single thing that you just said, and agree with it. I am so in love with you that _hurts_ , Sherlock, and I don't regret a single second of it."

"Does this mean I can kiss you now? I've been wanting to do that for a while now."

They must look a site, Sherlock thinks. Him, on his knees and gripping the armchairs so hard that his hands were starting to cramp. John, with one hand on the back of Sherlock's neck and fingers in his hair, the other hand now on top one of Sherlock's.

"Oh God, yes, and anything else you want."

And now Sherlock's face is angled upward, John's angled downward, and both are trying to push closer to the other. Sherlock, whose knees are finally bothering him, rises up slowly without breaking the most fabulous kiss in life and is able to fit them both in John's chair.

This new position, with Sherlock now in John's lap, opens up their mouths to each other.

When they finally break apart, the need to breathe overcoming the want to kiss, the energy that had previously only been associated with thrill of the chase, thrums through both of them as they pant.

Later that night, after they've both been thoroughly snogged, they climb into Sherlock's bed (fully clothed more or less), both too tired to do anything else, and slept.


End file.
